


Finding Home

by Gloria W (HowNovel)



Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-10-10
Updated: 1989-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Gloria%20W
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being accidentally separated from Scott, Paul is searching the streets of a Colorado town when he assists an elderly woman carry packages. She gives him a tip on where his son might be working. On the long walk there through a blinding snowstorm, Paul encounters a dog caught in a trap. He has to choose whether to leave the dog, or continue on to the next town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Home

FINDING HOME  
by Gloria W  
1989

 

A tinny rendition of "Joy to the World" blared from a speaker outside the local Five and Ten as Paul Forrester eased his way down the main street in Foxlove, Colorado. He strove to appear casual, although he scanned both sides of the street in hopes of catching a glimpse of Scott. At the same time, he feared that he might see someone else who looked out of place in this small lumbering town.

Spying a young man who appeared to be about Scott's size, Forrester stepped up his pace. He wanted to get a better look, but just at that moment, the boy turned to greet a friend. Paul's heart sank. The boy's face was fuller than Scott's, and not at all as sensitive.

Two fresh-faced lumberjacks staggered out of a tavern across the street. A grey haired woman of about sixty, her arms filled with packages, jostled Paul as he walked by. She looked surprised to see him, as if she had been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she had believed herself the only person on the sidewalk.

"I... I'm so sorry. I'm not usually so rude."

Paul smiled warmly. "That's quite all right. You seem to have your hands pretty full. Can I help you with those?" He extended his hands to reach for the packages.

The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she made no move to let him take any of them. Her soft pink face was sprinkled generously with friendly laugh lines, but her intelligent blue eyes told Paul that she was nobody's fool.

"Say, I don't recall seeing you around here before. You new here?"

Paul smiled again, understanding her suspicion of strangers. "Yes, ma'am. I'm just passing through."

Scrutinizing Paul carefully from head to toe, the woman at last apparently felt satisfied. "Well, you appear to be a nice enough young man. I guess maybe it would be all right." She handed two large packages from under her arm to Paul. "I'm Netty Harrison. I don't live far from here, but my arms sure are getting tired."

Taking the packages, Paul wondered whether he should make up another new name. He hated the constant lying, however necessary it might be for his survival. He decided to compromise. "My friends call me Paul."

Walking with Netty toward her home, Paul wondered what was in the packages, and for whom they were intended. Humans were still a mystery to him; their ways were puzzling - maybe especially this holiday they called Christmas. Judging from the information he could gather, the holiday had religious origins - celebrating the birth of a God-man teacher. However, they certainly had strange ways of celebrating such an event. He recalled the drunken lumberjacks across the street, then remembered the wild Christmas party that he had witnessed while working for a newspaper the previous Christmas. Even some of the nicer customs seemed strange to him - like giving a profusion of gifts. It was difficult for Paul to understand why humans needed such a never-ending supply of gifts, or why they were so obsessed with gadgets of all sorts.

"We're almost there." Paul started slightly as Netty's words intruded on his thoughts.

As they walked on, Paul mused that this Christmas was a time of year when home had special significance, when humans took pains to enjoy their families more than they did at other times of the year.

Thinking about the ideal Christmas of humans caused a wave of profound sadness to pervade Paul's being. What would it be like to have a special permanent place of one's own to call home? He and Scott had had an endless succession of resting places as they searched for Jenny, and strove to evade federal agent George Fox. And now even Scott was gone. Would he and Scott ever be reunited? Paul found himself on the verge of tears, so painful was his longing to hold Jenny again, to see the mischievous glint in Scott's eye.

"Well, this is it." Netty's voice broke into his thoughts again. This time Paul was grateful for being pulled back to a less painful here and now. "It's not much," she continued, "but it's home." Netty reached toward Paul to take back her packages.

Handing the packages to Netty, Paul noticed that they were in front of a small, neat cottage style house with a picket fence in front.

There was an awkward pause before Netty spoke again. "Say, I'm not much in the habit of havin' strangers in, but you sure have been a help. Could I fix you some coffee?"

Paul hesitated. He had already squandered time that should have been spent searching for Scott, and the more time he spent with any one person, the more likely it was that that person would remember him, should Fox come looking for the alien. Still... Paul realized that he had had nothing to eat since morning, and that had been only coffee and a doughnut at a diner. Maybe a cup of coffee would at least clear his head.

Netty had not waited for Paul's reply. Apparently assuming that he would accept her invitation, she unlocked her door, and motioned for him to come in.

Netty's kitchen was warm and cozy in contrast to the distinct chill outside, where a light snow was beginning to fall. A profusion of green houseplants made Netty's home seem almost like a return to summer. Paul sat at the small round kitchen table while Netty put on the tea kettle.

"You live here alone?" he asked.

Netty hesitated for just a moment, then took the plunge of trust. "Just now, I do. My husband died about five years ago, and my daughter went east. I had an old dog that was stayin' with me, but he up and took off a couple of days ago. Lord knows where he's gone."

Netty opened the refrigerator. "Say, I got me some nice vegetable soup here. Good stuff, but I get kinda sick of it, after a while. Don't supposed I could pawn some off on you?"

Paul smiled. "I'd be pleased to help out."

Netty placed a kettle on the stove, and dumped some soup into it from a bowl. "Sure do miss that darned dog. Don't know what possessed him to go off that way."

Paul frowned. Was this planet as filled with lonely people as it seemed? "Maybe he just had wanderlust," he said. "He'll probably be home soon."

Netty took some homemade rye bread from the bread box, cut several thick slices, and placed them in front of Paul. "Don't expect that you can live on just soup."

When the soup had warmed through, Netty set a large bowl in front of Paul. The mixture was thick with vegetables, and contained large chunks of beef. The savory aroma reminded Paul of just how hungry he was. As Netty spooned daintily at a small bowl that she had set for herself, Paul gobbled his hungrily; they ate in silence.

Then Netty spoke. "You planning on staying around long?" Again Paul hesitated. He could not explain to Netty that he never knew how long he would be able to remain in one place. It would all depend on whether he could get a clue to Scott's whereabouts, and on how long it would be before George Fox again caught on to where he was.

"I... I don't know. I'm ... looking for my son."

Once the words were out, Paul was not sure that he should have said them. Fox would know he was looking for Scott, or at least would suspect that they had been separated. Could this sharing of his problem become a clue to his whereabouts?

Netty frowned. "Runaway? I don't know about kids these days..."

Paul smiled. "Not exactly a runaway. We just sort of ... lost track of one another, that's all."

"Oh? Well, I get the idea that you don't want a lot of questions, so I won't ask any. Just, anything I can do to help?"

Paul hesitated once more. To divulge too much might be a foolish error that would set Fox on his trail again. Still, without the risk of some inquiry, it seemed completely unlikely that he would ever find Scott. Slowly, he pulled his wallet from his pocket. Inside was a picture of Scott that he had had taken at a penny arcade; he showed it to Netty, who brightened

"You know, that boy does look familiar. Looks like a kid I saw working in the pharmacy in Swayton. I go there just for a change of scene sometimes, and 'cause they have a better selection of paperback books than the trash in the drugstore here. Now that I look at him a bit longer, as a matter of fact, I know that that's the boy."

Paul stood. "Well, I think that I'll be going, then. Thanks so much for the soup." He patted his stomach appreciatively.

Netty smiled. "My pleasure. Won't you stay for the night, though? If that is your boy, he'll probably still be in Swayton in the morning. I got me a soft couch, and some nice, warm blankets. It gets pretty cold between here and Swayton these winter nights."

Paul took Netty's hand warmly. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate the offer, but I've got to be getting on. I would appreciate some directions, though.

Netty squeezed Paul's hand in return, and gave him the directions to Swayton. Reluctantly, she left him at the door with the words, "Well, anything you say, but you're always welcome here."  
  
---  
  
'Should I have stayed?' Paul wondered. The snow was falling harder now, and it was not the soft downy flakes of some ideal Christmas Eve, but small hard, stony pellets, like hail. A stiff wind blew the ice against his forehead as he bent into it, cutting, burning, and coating his eyebrows and lashes with a thick, frozen crust. The blowing snow made it difficult for him to see more than a few feet ahead of him; visibility was made even worse by the fact that he had to keep his eyes almost closed to protect them from the stormy blast. Still, if he could reach Swayton tonight, he could begin his search for Scott first thing in the morning. It was difficult, now, to imagine what life would be like without Scott.

As he wiped the ever-thickening ice from his brow with the back of one gloved hand, Paul thought that he heard a sound. Was it the wind? He stood still and listened.

There it was again, this time a little louder. Paul was certain, now, that the sound he had heard was not the wind. It was a whimpering, like that of an animal in pain.

Paul walked a few more steps. Any significant delay now could mean he wouldn't get to Swayton by morning; such a failure might cause him to miss Scott, or allow Fox enough time to catch up with him again.

He heard the sound again, although this time it sounded more like a low moan. Although he was sure the sound wasn't made by a human, Paul couldn't pass such suffering by. He turned back.

Following the sound, Paul arrived at a thicket a short distance from the road. Under a low bush, he could see the form of some fairly large animal. He approached cautiously.

At first, Paul thought the grey-brown animal was a wolf, but as he came closer he could see that its eyes were softer, and that the creature wore a brown leather collar. A dog? Paul wondered what a dog would be doing so far from home on such a night. The snowfall was easing now, but the poor animal must have endured it for some time.

The dog snarled, showing large white teeth. At the same time, Paul heard the clanking of a heavy chain.

"Easy, boy." Paul moved no closer, but opened his eyes wider against the snow, trying to see the full length of the animal. He winced; the ice beneath the dog's hindquarters was crimson with blood, and against the snow Paul could see that the animal's leg was brutally clasped in the teeth of a steel trap.

"Easy, boy," Paul whispered again, moving slowly closer, then kneeling a short distance from the wounded dog, which curled its upper lip again, although half-heartedly this time. Then it lay in the snow and whimpered again, surveying Paul with questioning eyes.

Paul's stomach turned as he looked over the torn flesh of the dog's leg and the shiny white length of bone that the dog had torn bare in its efforts to escape. It was cruel enough to shoot an animal; what kind of person would do this?

Paul knew that right now, that was not the question. Instead it was, "What kind of being would leave another to suffer like this?" He also knew that, however eager he might be to get on with his search for Scott, he was not that kind of being.

Inching closer to the dog, Paul extended his hand. The dog again bared its teeth. Paul halted his advance, but did not retreat. The dog whimpered and lowered its head, still watching Paul with eyes that were now plaintive rather than threatening. After waiting a minute or two to allow the dog to become accustomed to his presence, Paul at last ventured to reach out and gently pat the dog's head. The dog lifted its forequarters slightly, but then moaned and dropped back.

Before the dog could resume its vigilant stance, Paul moved to its side and caught hold of the jaws of the trap that held it. As carefully as possible, he pulled the jaws apart, releasing the animal's mauled leg. The dog growled slightly, but did not attempt to bite Paul. He had been released from the trap, but Paul sensed that there had been no relief from the pain.

"Easy there, boy. You're going to be all right."

Patting the dog with his left hand, Paul eased the small sphere that was the one thing of his own planet still remaining to him, and held it in his right hand. The dog watched with interest, apparently convinced, at least temporarily, that the stranger meant him no harm.

Holding the sphere in his right palm, Paul focused his thoughts on it, then the dog's wound. The sphere responded, at first with a slight grey glow, then with increasing intensity, until it shown a bright blue. At the same time, the flesh on the dog's leg began to pucker, then eased back over the bare bone, eventually knitting back together; a process that usually required weeks, if possible at all, was completed in a matter of seconds. When the skin had mended so totally that not even a scar showed, the sphere ceased its eerie glow, and Paul returned it to his pocket.

The dog snarled when the sphere first began glowing, then watched with keen interest as the leg mended. When the process was completed, he acted like a totally different animal; he jumped up on Paul, placing his large forepaws practically on the alien's shoulders, licking Paul's face with affection. Although he apparently accepted the healing as one more wonderful thing humans could do, he was not without gratitude.

Paul was stunned for a moment, not certain what to make of the demonstration, but then he decided that the dog meant him no harm. "All right, boy, you're welcome. Now down."

Obediently, the dog removed its paws from Paul's chest and sat at his feet. For a moment, man and dog stared at one another. Then Paul said, "Okay, boy, go home."

The dog cocked its head to one side, but did not move. More emphatically, Paul repeated, "Home!"

When the dog still did not move, Paul shrugged his shoulders, then started to walk back to the road. The dog followed a couple of steps behind.

When man and dog reached the road, Paul looked in both directions. It seemed likely that the dog was from Foxlove, so he pointed in that direction, and said, "Home!"

The dog watched Paul with interest, but showed no sign of leaving. Once again, Paul tried the command more emphatically, but with equal lack of success. Again, he shrugged and proceeded in the direction of Swayton. The dog followed loyally behind.

After stopping several times in an attempt to persuade the dog to return to Foxlove, Paul sighed. What was he to do? The dog appeared to have no concept of where home was. As a matter of fact, for the moment it seemed to believe that home was wherever Paul was. Paul could understand the animal's loyalty, but was exasperated, nevertheless.

This was not his dog. This could never be his dog. It belonged to someone else, as evidenced by the collar around its neck. Even if it had been abandoned, there was no way he could keep the dog. The search for Jenny, and the flight from George Fox, required frequent changes of residence, and many apartment owners simply did not appreciate dogs. Besides, the animal would call so much attention to itself that if it became known that he were traveling with such a beast it would be almost impossible to hide.

Paul looked back toward Foxlove. He recalled reading a sign that read, 'Veterinarian', just as he entered the town. Most likely a veterinarian would know to whom such an animal belonged, or, if not, would be able to find it a good home.

Turning back to look toward Swayton, Paul shook his head. He could not shake the awareness that returning to Foxlove might mean missing Scott.

The dog cocked his head to one side, seeming to sympathize with whatever was bothering Paul. Paul scratched it affectionately on the head. "All right, boy, you win. Come on." The dog apparently liked the sound of Paul's resigned voice, whatever the decision; it wagged its tail.

As he retraced his steps, Paul was pleased to discover that it had stopped snowing. The sky was clear and black now, and the moon shown on an earth that appeared to be sheltered in pale blue-white ice.

Paul gazed at the sky and attempted to locate his own planet with some longing, then looked down at the dog. "Well, I guess we lostlings have to help one another, do we not?"  
  
---  
  
On the return trip to Foxlove, Paul savored the quietness of the night. Although the distance seemed longer on the way back, he walked in a semi-dreamlike state, almost sensing himself to levitate in spite of his fatigue. In his few rational moments, he observed that despite his perpetual striving to mold his own destiny, there were times when he felt helpless - in the grip of forces beyond his control. This was one of those times.

When he reached the veterinarian's office, Paul did not expect to be welcomed with open arms, since he came to burden the poor man with a stray dog. Nevertheless, he was unprepared for the unfriendliness of the greeting that he received. As he entered the reception room, the vet, a bespectacled man in his mid fifties, eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing with Netty's dog?" he demanded.

Paul's eyes widened with surprise. "Netty's dog? I... " Paul looked down at the dog. Somehow, in his intense concern over the animal's suffering, he had totally failed to make a connection between Netty's lost dog, and the one he was trying to help.

Confronted with the vet's hostility, Paul realized that in his strange euphoria while walking back to town he had forgotten to make up a plausible story about how he had come in possession of the dog.

He disliked lying, feeling that every untruth he told somehow diminished him; nevertheless, experience had taught him that humans often believed well conceived lies more readily than the truth. Also, telling the truth at the wrong time might mean that he would not survive. He decided that the vet would not believe what had really happened to the dog, so he blurted out something about finding the dog tied to a tree some distance from town.

The vet scrutinized Paul suspiciously. He did not like the stranger's awkward nervousness, and there was no rope tied to the dog. But then, he realized, if the dog wasn't tied, that meant it had followed the stranger willingly. The stranger had come here, which indicated that he wasn't intending to steal the dog.

The vet's manner softened, and he said, "Well, that animal is Netty Harrison's dog, Colonel. Been gone a few days now, and she's missed him like all get out. Darned kids must have taken him. Don't mean no harm by it, I suppose, but the poor dog could have frozen out there on a night like this. As for Colonel, the dog's just too friendly for his own good." He patted Colonel's head affectionately. "There, there, Colonel, we'll have you home in just a little while."

Colonel wagged his tall, apparently delighted that the vet remembered his name. The vet surveyed the dog more closely, then spoke again. "He looks to be all right. Say, you must have had yourself quite a walk. Why don't you park yourself for a while? I'll have my kennel boy call Netty; she can come and pick Colonel up."

Paul was about to offer to take Colonel back to Netty, then thought better of it. If he confessed to knowing where Netty lived, it might look as if he had stolen the dog. Besides he was tired. He said nothing, but nodded gratefully as he sat down.

The vet turned toward a door behind him that led to the kennel quarters. "Scott, come out here, will you?"

Paul's heart pounded at the sound of that name, but then he stifled his wild hope. How many Scotts must there be on this planet?

But when the door opened, there was no question - it was his Scott, the son he had so fervently hoped to find.

Both Paul and Scott fought the impulse to rejoice in their reunion in front of the vet; such a display would bring questions they did not care to answer. But their eyes glinted as they pretended not to know each other.

The vet didn't notice anything. "Scott, this fella's found Netty Harrison's dog, Colonel, and I know she's just achin' to get him back. Give Netty a call, will you? Tell her we've got the dog, if she'd care to pick him up."

Scott scrutinized Paul's expression carefully. In the course of their travels, the two of them had learned to read each other's facial expressions in a manner that seemed almost like ESP. Now, some clue of that sort told him that his father did not think that was such a good plan. He thought quickly.

"If that's what you want, Dr. Honneger, but it's pretty late to drag Netty out. I'm almost finished for today. I'd be willing to take Colonel over on my way home."

Honneger looked at his watch, and frowned. "Lord, the time just clean got away from me. Didn't realize it was that late. Okay, if you'd be willing, that's a fine plan. Tell Netty I'm pleased Colonel is back. Wish her a Merry Christmas for me, and thanks."

Scott grinned. "Fine. Okay, Colonel, let's go."

Scott headed for the door. Colonel wagged his tall, but did not move, continuing to sit at Paul's feet.

Scott frowned. In a more commanding voice, he said, "Colonel, come!" The dog just wagged his tall and nudged closer to Paul's leg.

Paul smiled. "It looks as if Colonel has become a little attached to me. Say, I've got an idea. Maybe Scott here... Scott is your name, isn't it? Maybe Scott could show me where this Netty Harrison lives. If we can get Colonel home to his real owner, I'm sure he'll be just fine."

The vet was satisfied with that plan, and Paul and Scott left the vet's office with Colonel in tow.  
  
---  
  
Paul lay staring at the stars that shown in the clear winter's sky through Netty's upstairs bedroom window. He savored the sound of Scott's steady breathing in the next bed. Was it possible that their reunion was anything but a dream?

He smiled. 'Don't I believe in happy endings? he thought, closing his eyes in gratitude. Happy was an understatement.

He recalled the euphoria of his reunion of Scott; they had exchanged tales of their adventures since parting on the way to Netty's house. Scott had worked at the pharmacy in Swayton, but the pharmacist had proved to be so unreasonable in his demands that employment there did not last long. A sympathetic customer told him that a veterinarian in Foxlove needed a kennel boy. It wasn't ideal employment, to be sure, but...

Paul smiled again, and sighed. It seemed a long time since he had known such contentment. When they arrived at Netty's, Netty and Colonel appeared to be as happy about their reunion as he and Scott were about theirs.

Netty would not hear of them leaving her home so late in the evening. She fixed them a delicious meal of stew and homemade bread, and insisted that they stay at least for the night. Trusting Paul now, she offered him the use of the bedroom that she and her husband had shared. She could not bear to sleep in it now, she confided, and had taken the guest room. Paul and Scott were welcome to use the bedroom for as long as they liked.

Paul frowned slightly. For as long as they liked? For others, such an expression had some meaning - for as long as it suited their fancy, for as long as they chose. For him and Scott, though, it could only be for as long as they were allowed to stay - for as long as they were not forced to run.

It was apparent that Netty would welcome company, especially during this season in which togetherness seemed so important. He and Scott decided to oblige her, for a time. She was a pleasant person, and asked few questions. Both he and Scott could use some time in one place to gather strength, and to make a new plan.

A new plan... For so long the plans that he and Scott had made had centered around their search for Jenny, and their efforts to evade George Fox. Paul's eyes moistened. It was when they had some clue to Jenny's whereabouts that he felt most alive. The trail was cold now, but something told him that he and Jenny could not be permanently separated, that he must not lose hope.

Paul shook his head at the thought of George Fox. Why was the man so persistent in his pursuit? Was it possible that the excitement of the chase filled something of the same need in Fox's life that the search for Jenny did in his own?

He smiled again; never so pleasant an ending to that guest, though. To be reunited with Scott was to be halfway home. To be with Jenny would be the other half. He was aware now, that however pleasant it was to have a roof over his head, that was not home. Home for any person must be with those he loves.

Halfway... Paul recalled the series of unlikely events which had brought him and Scott together again. Was it all an operation of chance, or was something more purposeful involved?

What made him so sure that he and Scott would again find Jenny? In this vast country, and in light of all that was ranged against them, it would take a miracle. Still, would such a miracle be any more unlikely than the strange set of circumstances that had brought him back his son?

Paul stared out a pale blue star, and thought of the blue light of his sphere. Humans regarded the feats he accomplished with it as being miraculous; but, in reality, the sphere only operated in terms of laws that Earth dwellers did not understand. Those were laws of a more perfect planet, one that he could recall with sadness, that he could dream about with longing, but to which he might never return.

Never? Paul's smile lingered as he drifted off to sleep. 'Never', in any planet's language, was a long, long time.

THE END


End file.
